plus one
by scribblingnellie
Summary: The wedding invitation has arrived. Greg Lestrade's just not sure he can face opening it. A companion piece to RSVP. Many thanks for reading!


Lugging the full-to-bursting bag inside, Greg leaned back against the front door. Feeling it shut with a loud thud against his back, he dropped the plastic supermarket bag onto the mat. At least it was Friday and he had the weekend off.

Rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, he dumped his keys on the hall table. Maybe Donovan was right, maybe he needed some time off. He knew his team could manage perfectly well without him, but he was always reluctant to take leave. Ironic, really. Greg let out a half-hearted, tired laugh. Wasn't that one of the reasons why his marriage failed? Seriously, he wasn't indispensable. Maybe after they'd closed the Waters case; he was sure they were nearly there. The latest trial had been thrown out only last week but Greg was positive they were onto something solid.

Shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up, he saw the pile of post scattered across the mat. Carefully bending down - not as young as he used to be and a long day on the go - he gathered the envelopes together. Standing back up, grimacing as he felt it in his knees, he flicked through the small pile. Bills, statements, solicitor's letter. And a thick cream envelope, smooth between his fingers. Greg turned it over; no return address. Going by the fancy writing on the front, he figured it could only be one thing - the invitation.

There it was then. Dropping the rest of the post next to his keys, he picked up the shopping, the elegant envelope still in his hand. Walking into the kitchen, he placed it onto the counter, dumping the bag next to it. Taking a step back, he contemplated the invitation.

Well. It had to be opened. Staring at it wasn't going to get it done.

Drink first. Wine or beer? Greg felt his neck tensing. Beer. He turned to the fridge, opening and reaching in to take one of the bottles filling the bottom shelf. Grabbing the opener from off the side, he had the bottle uncapped in a swift, well-practiced movement. The strong, heady scent filled his nose; he breathed it in deeply. Taking a couple of long swigs, Greg savoured the warm, dark smoothness. He never drank for courage - first time for everything then.

Pulling out a stool, he sat down in front of the envelope. Bottle beside him, Greg reached towards the invitation, sliding it back across the counter top. It felt posh and traditional and expensive beneath his fingertips.

How many envelopes had he stuffed that late night 20 years ago? As she had piled more cards and envelopes in front of him, Greg had opened another bottle of wine for them. 100? Something like that. 100 invitations, 100 RSVPs, 100 envelopes. And not sealing the envelopes down until she had checked that the cards were the right way round.

Strange, the little things he remembered. Like dropping the box of place cards and having to check each one for any bumped corners. The bridesmaid dresses that were too long then too short. Proof reading menus five times and still finding a word wrong on the day.

Taking another long sip from the bottle, Greg shook his head. Maybe they should have eloped. But then he'd been mad about her and would've married her wherever, whenever, however she wanted. Smiling at the thought, he ran a hand over his head, feeling the short spiky hair bristle beneath it. Not that it would have made any difference to the outcome. The more responsibility he'd taken on, promotion from DC to DS to DI, the more his job ate into their marriage; late night paperwork, cancelled leave, missed special occasions. No, ok, it wasn't all his fault, Greg knew that. Just some days, as the divorce dragged on, he'd let himself wonder; if he'd done things differently, if he'd tried harder, could it have made a difference?

'Bollocks.'

His voice, low and hoarse, caught in his throat. He brought his head down into his hands. Seventeen years of marriage. He'd forgiven her after the first affair; it'd felt like the right thing to do. He wanted to save their marriage and keep them together.

But she didn't. That was what hurt most, what left the ache in his chest and the pain that wouldn't shift. It finally took Sherlock's revelation of her second affair, that Christmas four years ago, to make Greg realise that his marriage couldn't be saved.

His hands found their way around the back of his neck, his fingers lacing together. Taking several deep breaths, Greg pushed the memories, the pain and anger from his mind and his heart, squashing it back into the tight ball he'd made of them all. His marriage was over. Done. He couldn't think of _what if_ or _if only_. He had to think of now, and of being on his own.

So. The invitation.

Opening his eyes, Greg straightened himself up, rubbing his hands over his face. Reaching out, he picked up the envelope. Tapping it against the counter top, he took another long swig of his beer.

Tomorrow.

Swivelling away from the bench, he slowly stood up from the stool, bottle in one hand, envelope in the other. As he walked past the coffee maker, he propped the invitation up against it.

Tomorrow morning he'd open it.

* * *

><p><strong>A companion piece to RSVP - Greg's reaction to receiving the invitation to John and Mary's wedding. I've got a second chapter planned - hopefully get it written and posted soon-ish! Many thanks for reading.<strong>


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